


Strays

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Shower Sex, discussions, powerbottom!Chilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I just think it's unfair that you have seven, and I have none. They don't trust me, and I would like at least one - if I've got to live with seven - no, </i>eight<i> - that has a fondness for me." </i></p><p>A discussion in the shower regarding the adoption of another stray to the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awillsgrahamcracker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awillsgrahamcracker/gifts).



> A lovely [commission](http://wwhiskeyandbloodd.tumblr.com/donate) from a lovely [person](http://willskissograham.tumblr.com/)!! First time for whiskey writing this pairing, and it was a wonderful and adorable experience :D
> 
> Thank you so much for your commission, bb, we really hope you like it!

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“When have I ever given you a reason to doubt when I say something?” Will’s brow raises and Frederick lifts a hand before he can add words to the look. “Don’t answer that.”

“Eight is a lot,” Will sighs instead. His expression draws into a grimace as he shucks his pants to the floor and arches into a stretch to roll his shoulder. He is watched, lips pursed, by Frederick by way of the mirror where he unbuttons his shirt.

“ _Seven_ is a lot, and you haven’t let that stop you.”

“I have, actually,” laughs Will, rubbing his hands over his face before padding towards the bathroom, bare but for his boxers. “That’s why there’s seven, rather than eight. And if you think seven is a lot, then why add another?”

Frederick squints at himself, displeased as ever to see the scar still slicing cleanly across his middle as his shirt is discarded towards the laundry. He doesn’t touch it - doesn’t let anyone, really, himself or Will if he can slap his hand away fast enough - but merely glowers at it a moment more before following along to the bathroom.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s winter.”

“It’s still cold,” huffs Frederick, stepping onto the well-worn woven mat by the shower, delightfully close to where Will regards him wry, hand under the shower spray to test the temperature.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m avoiding an interrogation.”

A brief narrowing of eyes before Will turns back, leans to adjust the water before letting it fall over his fingers again. Then, without a word, he pulls his hand free and flicks warm water against the other’s chest, amused.

“You’re avoiding a conversation. That, need I remind you, you started.”

Will steps into the shower, ducks his head beneath the warm spray, uneven but good enough pressure to not warrant him changing the showerhead yet, despite Frederick’s constant complaints that he should.

A pleased hum when he hears the door close, feels the other close and shifts to share the water as he runs his palms flat over his face to rub it clean.

“Why eight?”

“Why seven?” comes the response, tone lilted to only bare annoyance, and Will grins.

“Why not nine?” he clarifies.

"You're being difficult," Frederick notes, a fond note beneath his surface-level annoyance. "Fine, then why _not_ nine? Why not ten? Twenty?"

Will's grin widens and he ducks his head under the water, pushing his hair back from his face to blink at Frederick and bring him near, fingers wrapping together.

"Because I don't want nine. Or ten. Or twenty."

"But if I do?" It's an arch question, entirely disingenuous, and Frederick closes his eyes as Will leans in to kiss the stubborn twist from his lips.

"Then you can start taking them all on walks, or getting up and feeding them in the morning," Will finally shrugs as the water slides Chilton's hair down into his face. The smaller man sighs, relenting a little at this threat of increased dog-based chores, and turns away from Will, bumping him lightly aside to take the spray entirely for himself instead.

"I just think it's unfair that you have seven, and I have none. They don't trust me, and I would like at least one - if I've got to live with seven - no, _eight_ \- that has a fondness for me. Isn't that the point of them? Loyalty?"

“Mm, but loyalty you don’t buy, you earn it from them.” The response is not unkind, merely grounding, and Will tilts his head to watch the water slip slick down Frederick’s back, catch in heavy droplets where the spray doesn’t directly hit.

“So my choices narrow further - to either waiting out one of them to decide I’m worth the time, or to start with a clean slate.”

Will snorts, trails his fingers over the drops, connecting them and watching them slip further still to the floor before leaning to kiss the doctor’s shoulder gently.

“You’re overthinking,” he warns, tone dipping to amusement and a shade lower, stepping up behind the man and sliding his palms warm and flat down his arms to lightly circle his wrists where they tense.

"Always," Frederick sighs, regarding Will over his shoulder. "The burdens of having a particularly agile mind. I'm sure you understand." A slight smile catches him off-guard before he can turn it back to the seriousness that this discussion apparently requires, and he adds, "Not about dogs, though. Oversimplifying, in that instance."

He leans forward a little, lifting his hands to press them against the tile wall, and bringing Will with him to lean against, chest to back. The stealthy little smile widens a bit more, wriggling pleased beneath Will as he presses Frederick closer still to the wall, water against their backs.

"If you're serious," acquiesces Will, "you should try to get to know these ones first. All very friendly." He brings a kiss along Frederick's shoulder again, higher to the curve of his neck.

"Maybe."

"Less fussing about dog hair, more actually playing _with_ the dogs."

Frederick almost laughs, just a huff of sound on a sigh, and ducks his head as Will kisses the back of his neck now instead.

"I'd rather play with you," he admits, drawling amusement. "I'll be much less prone to overthinking then."

Will hums, pleased, nuzzling higher still, just where the hair curls wet and heavy against Frederick’s skin.

“That’s because I put in a lot of effort to encourage incoherency.” Will laughs, splaying his fingers to rest between Frederick’s against the wall, curling softly, fingertips against the soft webs above his knuckles.

“An agile mind needs rest,” he teases, stepping up a little closer, letting his lips press softly to the corner of the man’s sharp jaw, to the sensitive hollow of skin behind it.

Will refuses to admit his own hesitation on the matter, refuses to associate it with its inevitable meaning. Another dog is easy enough to care for, seven and eight hardly matter much with the amount of time and money and attention Will already gives his pack. The number matters much less than the meaning behind adding to it.

“Distraction.” Will slides their hands down the wet wall, turning them gently, leaving his fingers down by Frederick’s hips as he presses his own against them.

"You are that, certainly, Mr. Graham." Frederick watches the press of Will's fingers into his hips, the gentle control there. He presses back in spite of it. More contact, both rocking against the other, bodies made slick by the warm water between them.

"You'll have to work very hard to distract me from this, though," he adds, idly. "You know how we get when we really latch onto an idea."

He reaches back with the hand that Will released, to press it searching against Will's stomach. Skimming lower, he grasps through the curled patch of hair to slip his fingers against Will's length, already hardening from the contact.

"Much harder," he sighs, feigning exasperation, and turning his head away with a laugh when Will tries to kiss his cheek. If he notices Will's flicker of surprise, he doesn't show it, and really, it shouldn't be a surprise at all. Frederick takes pains, twisting squirming pains to ensure that his scars go untouched, whether it's the one across his belly or the small circle in his cheek, he has almost never let Will near them. Attached to him, but not a part of him, nothing that he wants to associate with Will's dry humor or affectionate warmth.

He seems mollified, though, when Will rolls his hips forward, catching Frederick's hand between them, and he finds that he's rising to the demands of the occasion.

"Like this," Frederick murmurs. "Against the wall."

Will groans, soft, pleased, and rocks his hips forward against the hand familiar and tight around him. His other hand seeks out, freeing Frederick’s, for the soap, pressing down the plunger blindly to feel the lightly scented stuff slick his fingers.

“I know how we get when you take control and I steal it from you,” he murmurs, ducking his head to press lips to the join of neck and shoulder as his fingers seek careful and slippery between Frederick’s legs, feeling his wrist brush against the other’s as he keeps stroking.

“I suppose I could take advantage of a distracted mind with the same topic,” he sighs, bites his lip and smiles as he feels his breath hitch and pick up, hard from the deliberate stroking, from feeling the man beneath him pressed so close and trapped against the wall. It never ceases to astound him how controlling Frederick is until they get here, until Will steals all his words and finds him entirely pliant and happy to be.

He presses one finger in, just the tip, enough to feel the delightful spasm of muscles run up Frederick’s back.

"More," Frederick insists softly, with a beckoning turn of his hips. He releases Will's cock, pleased to feel it settle hard against his ass above where Will's finger presses into him. Forehead pressed to the wall, he puts his hand instead against himself, furtive, teasing strokes in time with the slow push inside of him.

It is a deliberate tease, and one that brooks no patience from Frederick who sighs - huffs, really - and tries to work himself against Will's touch, to fill himself with Will's patient fingers and feel his body be overwhelmed by him. A pretension, perhaps, that this is just the eager gratification of desires of two who met through the most hopeless of circumstances, pitted against each other snarling and sly from the moment they met, and yet have found themselves here, together, with Frederick's suits hanging alongside Will's shirts in increasing numbers, and long morning walks with the dogs through the woods.

Another dog, perhaps, to add to them, and a sense of permanency with it.

Will had saved him, in a sense, taking his own scars in the process of revealing Frederick to be no more the Ripper than Will himself was. An even exchange, a peculiar fondness for the other, quick minds meeting with as much pleasure as their bodies do now.

"Come on," huffs Frederick again, face flushed from the teasing and the heat of the shower. "You don't have to be gentle, I won't break."

"I don’t want you thinking," Will responds with a laugh, pressing deeper regardless, granting the man two fingers and a delicious twist of them to hear breath leave him quickly.

It's easy enough to command an empty mind, but Will’s refuses to silence itself just as ardently. Another dog, a deeper commitment, a living creature shared by them, despite Frederick's insistence that he wants the dog for himself.

He already allows the smaller ones to crawl over him when he reads on the sofa, drops his hand to the larger dogs when he’s on the porch, watching Will make lures and tie them, pretending not to know how closely he is being watched.

There is already this tenuous intimacy between the two of them, early soft mornings and shared duties around the house, five days of every week spent here, at Wolf Trap.

Will runs his free hand down Frederick's spine, feels him coil and shiver with sensation before stretching him wider and pulling his fingers free to curl around his own cock instead.

"It'll be another stray,” he whispers, lining up and starting a bare push against him, still teasing, still slow.

The sound that finds itself in Frederick’s sigh is low, brief, entirely genuine even as his brows knit in discomfort at the feeling. He stops any more, breathing harsher through his nose as he curls his fingers against the wall and presses back anyway, to feel Will in him more fully, faster.

“Your ninth, in that case,” he quips before Will shifts him forward against the wall again and Frederick's words - his thoughts, his breath - are released on a quiet groan that works its way past his lips before he can stop it. The hand still around himself slows for a moment, legs quivering as he adjusts to the feeling of Will filling him, stretching him.

He raises up onto his toes with the sensation, and gasps out hard against the steam-fogged shower wall when Will begins to draw back out again, a steady but shallow movement to widen him further still.

“There,” Frederick groans again when Will brushes against the sensitive spot inside of him, and forces his fingers to curl into a fist. Will knows by now well enough where it is - has left Frederick a trembling mess of laughter and scolding with it before - but he still snares that control, that desire, to make it his own.

"My ninth," he agrees, pleasingly breathless himself as he slides his hands to rest against Frederick’s sides, holding him still, close, but loose enough to not snare him.

He teases, adjusts, finds his voice echoing the other’s desperate whine - he would deny the sound was anything like it, of course - before finally pushing all the way in, buried deep and trembling within Frederick, lips parted on a grin and a groan.

"Your second,” he adds, wry, allows them both a moment to catch their breaths before starting a deliberate, aching rhythm, the water of the shower beating at his back and turning it pleasantly numb.

Frederick smirks, a glance back over his shoulder to meet the blue eyes focused on his own, before he lets them slip closed and bows his head against the wall. Grasping one of Will’s hands, he slides it around his hip, down between his legs, to wrap there in place of his own, before spreading his own hands back against the wall.

They move in unison, unhurried but for the pace they set themselves, their own eagerness to see the other undone at their hand, to feel themselves loosen their own control to this strange space that has come to exist around them. Will’s thrusts are steady, deep, his mouth kissing ceaseless against Frederick’s shoulder, and the smaller man leans back into it, caught between Will’s hand and hips, his body and the wall, relinquished to the pleasure he now only allows himself to feel with Will.

It’s such a pleasant thing, unwinding, responding, feeling the other against them as breathing hitches and hearts beat faster. Will’s voice cracks, just a soft sound in his throat riding shotgun to a gasp, and he bites gently down against the skin before him, between Frederick’s shoulderblades, not enough to mark but enough to feel, sharp, drawing a shiver from the other man, and Will delights in pulling him to release first.

“Christ.”

Will doesn’t deny himself long, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Frederick doesn’t let him, ends up the steadier of the two as Will’s knees go weak and he breathes a laugh against his partner.

“Eight dogs,” he sighs, licking his bottom lip into his mouth as he pulls out, swallows, allows himself to be pushed back against the adjacent wall, hands up to stroke through the wet strands that fall just above Frederick’s brow line. “Can we manage eight dogs?”

A sigh, long-suffering, at the question as Frederick leans into Will, as relaxed as he ever is in these first few minutes together. He presses a single, lingering kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth and shrugs, eyes narrowed in amusement.

“If we can manage each other,” he smirks, “having one more stray will be a walk in the park.”


End file.
